Chicken Soup for the Soul Cookbook: 101 Stories with Recipes from the Heart

By Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen

The kitchen is the heart of the home.

So much of life is lived around the family table: we tell stories, review the day, pass on traditions, grieve our losses, resolve differences, introduce new loves and celebrate holidays. In the preparing and sharing of meals we create deep memories that we carry with us forever.

In the flavor of Chicken Soup for the Soul, here is a joyful collection of heartwarming stories accompanied by mouthwatering recipes. Seasoned with heartfelt blessings, this marvelous book will help you revisit time-honored values and foster the sharing of meaningful conversation—and new recipes—at mealtime.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chicken Soup for the Soul
• Release date: Oct 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781453280027

Jack Canfield

Jack Canfield, America's #1 Success Coach, is the cocreator of the Chicken Soup for the Soul® series, which includes forty New York Times bestsellers, and coauthor with Gay Hendricks of You've GOT to Read This Book! An internationally renowned corporate trainer, Jack has trained and certified over 4,100 people to teach the Success Principles in 115 countries. He is also a podcast host, keynote speaker, and popular radio and TV talk show guest. He lives in Santa Barbara, California.

Book preview

Chicken Soup

for the Soul®

Cookbook

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101 Stories with Recipes

from the Heart

Jack Canfield

Mark Victor Hansen

and

Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Backlist, LLC, a unit of

Chicken Soup for the Soul Publishing, LLC

Cos Cob, CT

www.chickensoup.com

Contents

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Jack and Mark’s Introduction

Diana’s Introduction

Grace Mark Victor Hansen

A Note About the Recipes

Chapter 1: Mom’s Kitchen

Mimi’s Kitchen Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Lauretta’s Down-Home Chicken Noodles Thea Alexander

Memories of a Swedish Kitchen Norma Brandel Gibbs

A Mother’s Advice Chris Cavert

Doomsday Cookies Barbara Curtis

No Depression Cake Dottie Walters

The Fruitcake Recipe Gino Sky

Mary Ann’s Maryland Crab Anne Cooper Ready

The Butcher’s Chicken and Mom’s Irish Potatoes Kathy Fellows

Rhubarb Pie Bettie B. Youngs

The Seat at the Head of the Table Florence Littauer

Chapter 2: Childhood Memories

The Legend of Glass-Eyed Gus Mike Buettell

Baking Recipe for Mothers Author Unknown

Hot Pink Chocolate Nancy Richard-Guilford

Country Roads Theodore S. Wentworth

Aunt Minnie’s Peanut Brittle Zoie Kaye

Moma’s Scappa e Fuggi Antoineta Baldwin

Memories from the Great Depression Betty Fobair McDermott

Heavenly Spicy Chicken Jean Brady

A Recipe for Laughter Glenna Salsbury

Slumgullion Joe Batten

My Favorite Food Bobbie Probstein

Thunder Cake Patty Hansen

Chapter 3: Grandparents

Arroz con Leche Rosemarie Cortez

Nanny’s Raisin Nut Cake Barbara DeAngelis

Grandma’s Thick Everything Soup Irene C. Kassorla

How I Learned to Love Tomatoes Jeanne Jones

Utah Pioneer Scones Susie Gross

Grammy Rufi’s Country Cooking Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Bukda, a Braided Bohemian Bread Pat Wayne

Gagi’s Gumbo D. Trinidad Hunt

Grandma Yehle’s Summer Kitchen Pam Finger

Almost Grandma’s Apple Pie Kirby Howard

Chapter 4: Family

From Dancer to Cook Patti Rypinski

Homemade Children Naomi Rhode

The Sound of Snowflakes and Warm Cranberry Pie Avril Johannes

Happy Hooligan—Dog Gourmet Floren Harper

Our Italian-American Table Carol Miller

My Grandpa Bentura and the Carrot Cake Frank Trujillo

Tea Party Fare Jamie Drew

Abraham Lincoln and the Mashed Potatoes Bobbie Probstein

Blessings in Disguise June Shoffeitt

I Love You Bonnie Cox

Chapter 5: Holiday Traditions

Christmas Eve Ann Hyatt

The Christmas Cookie Workshop Natalie Hartanov Haughton

Rebecca’s Christmas Cut-Out Cookies Elaine Cannon

Tamales, El Loco and the Dreaded Scarves Frank Trujillo

Credo at Christmas Daniel Roselle

Juanito’s Tamales Verdes Ernie Nagamatsu

Aunt Catherine’s Sugar Cookies Caroline A. Goering

Memories of Holiday Mincemeat Hazel Court Taylor

Poor Man’s Spice Cake Warren Farrell

Vinetarta, the Icelandic Christmas Torte Naomi Rhode

Passover in the Playroom Bobbie Jensen Lippman

Alice Wentworth’s Yummy Yams Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Chapter 6: Men in the Kitchen

Dad’s Chicken Cacciatore Sam Keen

A Spiced Chocolate Applesauce Cake for Dad Claudia Stromberg

My First Cooking Class Dick Martin

Foule and the Art of Living John Catenacci

Family Secret Sesame Chicken Ronald W. Jue

Health Nut Pancakes Rama J. Vernon

Beer Bread Charles Champlin

The One That Got Away Ralph Waterhouse

Long Beach, British Columbia, Salmon Supreme Val van de Wall

Tomato Mix-Up Art Linkletter

Things My Father Taught Me, Including Cabin Stew Bobbie Jensen Lippman

Chapter 7: Friends

Elvis Pie Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

In Hella’s Kitchen Sharon Huffman

Friendship Forever Fondue Sharon Civalleri

Cyndi’s Quickie Quiche Cyndi James Gossett

The Finnish Connection Dennis E. Mannering

Cooking for a Friend Is More than Just Feeding a Friend Barbara Swain

Chapter 8: Inspirations and Insights

Mothers’ Day Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Miracle Cookies Helice Bridges

Starving Student Chicken John and Kyoko Enright

See How They Run Bobbie Jensen Lippman

A Silver Belt Cheewa James

The Pheasant Bettie B. Youngs

We Miss You, Dina! Susan Zolla and Kathy Jensen

A Legacy of Tomato Aspic and Meatloaf Elaine Cannon

Debbie’s Creamed Corn Kimberly Kirberger

A Fish, a Fish, Lord, I Need a Fish! Martha A. Burich

To Russia with Love Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Neighborhood Soup Linda McNamar

Heart-Shaped Scones for Helen Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Udana’s Yummy Waffles Udana Power

Blue-Ribbon Apple-Kiwi Pie Linda Bruce

Artful Antipasto Vaughn Greditzer

A Post-Earthquake Chilean Quinoa Tabouleh Shared from the Heart Carlos Warter

The Rainbow Joan Fountain

Sarson Ka Saag Rita and Mallika Chopra

The Wooden Spoon Tony Luna

What on Earth Is Shoo-Fly Pie Anyway? Mary Helen Livingston

Chapter 9: Love, Romance and Marriage

Magical Vegetarian Moussaka Sirah Vettese

Reunion Burt Dubin

Salmon Wellington, Chez Jo Ozzie Jurock

The Case of the Missing Chocolate Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Love from Afar Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Twice in a Lifetime Rhonda Rima Nielsen Bisnar

Working Miracles for the Judge Andrea Bell

Chapter 10: A Love Story with Recipes

A Love Story with Recipes Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Chapter 11: For the Fun of It!

Sweet Revenge Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Somebody Slept in My Hair! Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Calories That Don’t Count Author Unknown

Guide to Calorie Burning Author Unknown

Where Do You Buy Scratch? Author Unknown

The Great Horseradish Caper Theodore S. Wentworth

Tooty Toots Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

A Favorite Rum Cake Recipe Author Unknown

Hay Huevos? Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Chapter 12: Parties with a Purpose

Happy New Year! Chick Moorman

A Party Idea That Could Change Your Life Susan Jeffers

The Trim-the-Tree Vision Party Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

The Best Birthday Mary Olsen Kelly

The Ultimate Birthday Party Mark Victor Hansen

Thanksgiving at Eagle’s Ridge Ranch Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

Who Is Jack Canfield?

Who Is Mark Victor Hansen?

Who Is Diana von Welanetz Wentworth?

Contributors

Permissions

Jack and Mark’s

Introduction

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When Chicken Soup for the Soul: 101 Stories to Open the Heart and Rekindle the Spirit was first published, it was often mistakenly placed in the cookbook section of bookstores. A lot of people (including many bookstore owners) thought it must be a book of chicken soup recipes.

Since we are both professional speakers, we give more than 100 presentations a year at hotels and conference centers. We usually forward our books and audio tapes to the presentation site a week before the actual event. Once we had to look for 33 boxes of Chicken Soup for the Soul that had been sent to the hotel prior to our arrival. When we arrived and checked with the concierge to pick up our books, the hotel staff was unable to find them. We looked in the luggage storage room, the receiving room, the head of catering’s office and the conference services office, but the books were nowhere to be found. After checking with UPS, they confirmed that the books had indeed been delivered to the hotel and signed for by someone named George. Since no one named George worked in the catering office or receiving department, the hotel was at a loss to explain where the books went.

Because we knew the books had to be somewhere, we arranged to walk the entire hotel with a security person to look. After two hours of searching, we finally found them—in the kitchen in storage with all of the other boxes of canned soup. Since the boxes had CHICKEN SOUP stenciled on them, they had been carted to the kitchen by the uninformed delivery person!

After this happened a few more times, we wondered if the heavens were trying to tell us something. Our publisher then suggested that we put together a book of chicken soup recipes. After all, cookbooks were perennial bestsellers. In the Kitchen with Rosie was on the bestseller lists for over a year! With more than 2 million copies of Chicken Soup for the Soul in print it had commercial success written all over it. Our publisher said he had a distributor that could sell 200,000 copies of a Chicken Soup for the Soul cookbook. Still, the idea of compiling a recipe book didn’t really appeal to either of us. We had not written and compiled Chicken Soup for the Soul for the purpose of making money. We had followed a heartfelt impulse to collect our most moving stories in a book so that they could be shared with more people than we could ever reach through our speeches.

Then our publisher suggested the possibility of a chicken soup recipe book by famous people—a celebrity cookbook with chicken as the main theme. That idea didn’t inspire us, either. What do we know about cookbooks, recipes or food? For all we know, someone could submit a recipe that would taste awful, or worse. How would we know?

Luckily for you, Mark’s wife Patty suggested we write a book with Diana von Welanetz Wentworth, a longtime friend who has coauthored six very successful cookbooks. We knew Diana through her work with the Inside Edge, a consciousness-raising breakfast group she founded 10 years ago in Beverly Hills, California. She had asked us to be on her advisory board with many other leaders of the human potential movement such as Norman Cousins, Barbara DeAngelis, Ken Blanchard, Susan Jeffers, Nathaniel Branden, Louise Hay and Dennis Weaver.

So we called Diana and invited her to a meeting, and then the fun began. Diana suggested that maybe a book of deeply touching and humorous stories centered around food and accompanied by a related recipe from the story’s author would be worthwhile. We immediately agreed. After all, we reasoned, we ate three meals a day. Lots of life—good and bad, painful and joyful, life-affirming and life-negating—occurred around the family dinner table.

Over meals stories were told, days reviewed, wisdom imparted, lessons learned, traditions passed down, dreams discussed, grief shared and differences resolved. Boyfriends came home to meet the parents, engagements were announced, family reunions held, holidays celebrated and many deep memories created. In the family kitchen, three generations often shared cooking a single meal. Secret recipes were imparted with care, and complex feelings were discussed and explored. Cookies and milk consumed after school helped children and parents reconnect at the end of what may have been a day of painful experiences or wondrous discoveries. One’s favorite food was often prepared as an act of love, special soups like only Grandma made were eaten in the safety of home and many bruised spirits were consoled with a cup of Mama’s hot chocolate. And we can all relate to the memories evoked by the smell of baking bread, a roasting Thanksgiving turkey or a steaming apple pie.

Suddenly, the book had a focus we could get excited about. Once again we could create a book that would speak to and from the heart, deeply touching people of all ages, from all walks of life, to make them laugh at themselves and at life and inspire them to reach a little higher and express themselves more fully in the pursuit of happiness and self-fulfillment.

In addition to authors from Chicken Soup for the Soul and A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul, we compiled a list of famous cookbook authors, chefs and celebrities that we mutually knew, and sent them all letters requesting a story and a recipe for the book.

A month later the stories and recipes began to pour in. We were delightfully surprised by the depth of feeling, range of topics and wonderful recipes submitted. We received many more than we were able to use. At Diana’s house we spent days reading these wonderful narratives from the heart and hearth and were treated to lunches prepared by Diana from the recipes that had been sent. Diana committed to test all the recipes in the book and we were willing, satiated, guinea pigs.

Having read and edited all of these stories ourselves and having feasted on much of the food described herein, we know you are in for a real treat as you read this book and share both the stories and the meals with family and friends.

We are excited to share these stories and special foods with you; however, we must caution you. Just as you could not possibly eat or prepare all of the wonderful foods described in this book in one sitting, you should not try to read all of the stories in one sitting either. There is a great deal to digest in this book—both literally and figuratively. Take your time and savor each story as you would each meal. Don’t hurry. Let this book be a constant companion and friend. Turn to it when you need a warm hug, some comfort, strength or inspiration.

Our hope is that after reading this book, you will be inspired to share your favorite stories about food and eating accompanied by a relevant recipe for our next book. All of us have experienced special moments in our lives that have affected us deeply. Each of us connects at the deepest level of our humanity when we share our stories. We look forward to hearing yours.

Much as any cook expectantly waits for reactions to his or her creation, we also look forward to hearing from you about your reaction to this book. We hope you love reading it as much as we have enjoyed cooking it up. Let us know what you think. And until then . . . bon appétit!

Diana’s Introduction

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What you love is a sign from your higher

self of what you are to do.

—Sanyana Roman

I have felt an urge to share food with others all my life. As a child, I loved to dine in restaurants with my family. Not knowing my father paid for the food, I thought waitresses were angels who, out of loving kindness, took joy in bringing us anything we wanted. Once, when someone asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said, Either a movie star or a waitress! The two vocations had equal glamour and prestige in my eyes. As the saying goes, be careful what you wish for!

My favorite restaurant was Little Joe’s, a large Italian restaurant in downtown Los Angeles across from Chinatown. The real Little Joe, a portly and kindly man, would stand near the kitchen door and inspect the room. His quiet aura of satisfaction stirred within me an indefinable sense of purpose which, combined with my mother’s love of cooking, seemed to propel me toward a career in food service. Much later in life, however, I discovered that my deep-seated calling was never really toward the food itself.

In my early twenties I began five years of cooking classes with a well-known French chef in Beverly Hills. Then, as a young mother seeking diversion and self-expression, I taught classes in cooking and entertaining in my own kitchen. There was such camaraderie and celebration in those early classes that my late husband Paul and I created a career of teaching, writing cookbooks and hosting a television series. In that 20-year period, I did, indeed, become a combination waitress/movie star.

As so often happens when play becomes work, our original passion dimmed. Eventually, through soul-searching, Paul and I realized that our true passion over the years had been hosting—it was the communal feeling of gathering people together that we loved.

One of the intriguing results of Paul and my years of hosting activities is that two spiritual and high-minded men, Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen, met, joined forces to write Chicken Soup for the Soul and made publishing history. When they telephoned one morning to tell me their publisher thought there should be a cookbook, and that I was the person they wanted to work with, my heart smiled and I said, YES!

The writing of this book has been an absolute joy. My six previous books have served as dress rehearsals for this one. In the deeply pleasurable process of my work herein, the soul-hunger of the five-year-old standing next to Little Joe has been immeasurably satisfied.

Grace

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Before you taste anything, recite a blessing.

—Rabbi Akiva

Saying grace at a meal blesses you, the meal and, most importantly, God. Grace provides that moment of remembrance, that isolated second of quiet and faithful thankfulness for our many gifts. The more we are thankful, the more we’ll have to be thankful for . . .

Privately expressed grace is as good as windy, loud, pontificating orations. Regardless of whether anyone else says grace over their meal, it’s a good habit to quietly close your eyes, however briefly, and commune openly with the Infinite.

A wise man taught me that after saying grace, one should rub one’s hands together to generate what is called healing energy, and then, with open hands at the outside perimeter of the food, energize the food. It is also good to ask your inner knowledge if your food is safe to eat. Your higher self will tell you what to avoid. Since learning this little process, I have never suffered from food poisoning. Whether it’s intuition or superstition, it seems to work for me and I wholeheartedly recommend it to you. The more you train yourself and your higher self with questions about what is or isn’t good for you to eat, the healthier, happier and better nourished you will become.

Throughout the book we have included graces and blessings from many different cultural and spiritual traditions. We invite you to use them to deepen your awareness of and appreciation for the abundance of food, friendship and love that flows into your life.

—Mark Victor Hansen

A Note About the Recipes

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The recipes you’ll find here are intertwined with cherished memories, and are from a time long before today’s more enlightened approach to fat in the diet. We implore critics to embrace the notion that some foods may be so soulful that their love content outweighs their fat content! All the recipes herein have been tested, but none have been adjusted to make them more nutritionally correct.

1

Mom’s

Kitchen

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In this life we cannot do great things. We can only do small things with great love.

—Mother Theresa

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The most indispensable ingredient of all good home cooking: love for those you are cooking for.

—Sophia Loren

Prayer

for Our Home

God of mercy,

God of Grace,

Be pleased to bless

This dwelling place.

May peace and kindly deeds

Be found;

May gratitude and love abound.

—Norma Woolbridge

Mimi’s Kitchen

Diana von Welanetz Wentworth

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One word frees us of all the weight and pain of life: that word is love.

—Sophocles

My mother loved being in the kitchen—it was her sanctuary. Like most families of the time, we ate the same foods over and over on a semi-regular rotation: spaghetti with tomato sauce, pot roast with mashed potatoes and gravy, tamale pie, fried chicken with mashed potatoes and gravy, roast leg of lamb with mint sauce and pan-roasted potatoes (lamb curry was for leftovers the next day), chicken-fried steak, pork chops with homemade apple sauce and potato pancakes, and Polynesian spare ribs with pineapple, garlic and soy sauce. But we didn’t mind the repetition, for along with the spices and seasoning, Mimi added that one special ingredient that only a mother could add—love.

Our shared moments in Mimi’s kitchen and the flavors and aromas of her repertoire of menus stay with me to this day. Mimi would tie an apron around me and ask me to shell and chop the walnuts for her fudge (still the best), which we packed in tins and kept in the antique French bombé chest in the dining room. My brother and I had permission to help ourselves.

But I was happiest when my mother made her spaghetti sauce for dinner. While the tangy tomato sauce simmered and splattered all over the white enamel stove-top, I would spoon a little into a saucer, open the freezer right next to the stove and place it on top of the frozen vegetables (lima beans—yuck!), close the door and wait restlessly until it was cool enough to taste. We still smile about the time I ate so much sauce there wasn’t enough left for dinner! I was surprised I didn’t get in trouble for it.

It was my job to hold the bundle of dried spaghetti and insert it into the huge kettle of boiling water (with a thin film of butter on top to prevent boiling over); I liked to watch the thin strands fall against the sides of the pot like a burst of the sun’s rays.

A few years ago, Mimi gave me the greatest gift I can imagine. The family was gathered in the living room, but she and I were alone in the kitchen. She took my arm and said, Come with me, I need to tell you something. She led me to her pantry where we could speak privately. Mimi took both my hands and looked into my eyes. "Listen to me carefully, darling girl. You have been the most wonderful daughter any mother could ask for. I am more proud of you than I can ever say. When I’m gone, I want you to promise me you won’t spend one moment feeling guilty about me! I’ve spent years feeling guilty about my mother—about things I didn’t think to do for her . . . words I didn’t say. I always wished I had done more for her—I just didn’t know how.

"I’ve decided I don’t want you to ever feel guilty about me for even one moment. You have been perfect and you have nothing to feel guilty for. Promise me!"

I promised. That moment became one of the great treasures of my life—absolved by my mother of all my failings!

Mimi, my dear mother—her presence has permeated every moment of my life. She is 89 now. I dread losing her, not having her nearby or physically available. But her spirit will live on in all I do. And so will her Spaghetti Sauce and the very best Fudge in the world.

Mimi’s Spaghetti Sauce

Makes 4 servings

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A humble sauce by today’s standards. It is from a time before fresh herbs were available everywhere. Fresh herbs may be substituted throughout these recipes at a ratio of three parts fresh to one part dried.

1 large onion, chopped

¼ cup olive oil

4 cloves garlic, cut in thin slivers

1 (6-ounce) can tomato paste

1 (1-pound, 14-ounce) can crushed tomatoes

1 ½ teaspoons chili powder

½ teaspoon crumbled dried basil

¼ teaspoon crumbled dried thyme

1 whole bay leaf

Salt and pepper

Hot buttered spaghetti (prepared from 16 ounces dried), or other pasta of your choice

Freshly grated Parmesan for serving

1. In a large stainless steel or enamel skillet, sauté onion in olive oil until it is just beginning to brown. Add garlic and sauté briefly. Stir in remaining ingredients except pasta and Parmesan.

2. Simmer sauce slowly for 30 to 45 minutes or until it is the thickness you prefer. Season to taste with salt and pepper. Serve over hot buttered spaghetti and pass the Parmesan.

Mimi’s Old-Fashioned Fudge

Old-Fashioned Makes 1 pound

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Mimi was so talented that she could quadruple the recipe in a large pot at one time. We suggest you practice by making the recipe first as it is presented here. It gets easier once you know how.

Butter, for the pan

Il_9780757393891_0027_002 cup milk

2 squares (2 ounces) Baker’s unsweetened chocolate

1 cup sugar

1 tablespoon corn syrup

18 teaspoon salt

2 tablespoons butter

1 ½ teaspoons vanilla

½ cup broken walnuts

1. Grease an 8- or 9-inch square cake pan with butter. Combine milk and chocolate in a heavy 4-quart saucepan; stir over low heat until the chocolate is melted. Add sugar, corn syrup and salt; stir constantly over medium-high heat until all the sugar is dissolved. As soon as the mixture comes to a boil, stop stirring. Use a wet towel to remove any of the grains of sugar adhered to the inside of the pan.

Lower the heat, insert a candy thermometer, and boil gently, without stirring, until the thermometer reaches 234°F (soft-ball stage).

2. Remove the pan from the heat and place it, without stirring, on a rack. Gently place the butter and vanilla on top of the mixture and let the fudge cool undisturbed until the thermometer registers 110°F. Remove the thermometer, add the broken walnuts, and begin beating the mixture with a wooden spoon. At the point when the fudge is just beginning to lose its gloss and thicken, quickly spread it into the prepared pan. Using a spatula, spread the mixture quickly into the corners, then leave it alone—if you fuss with it too much, the fudge will not be creamy.

3. Using a large knife dipped in hot water, score the fudge into 36 or more squares. Let cool completely, then cut again. Store in an airtight container. For best flavor and texture, store the fudge at room temperature for 24 hours before serving.

Lauretta’s

Down-Home

Chicken Noodles

Thea Alexander

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In my earliest memories of my mother, I see her in a cotton house dress—they were all flowered—and a bibbed apron, standing at the stove holding a baby in her left arm while her right arm stirred a huge pot of chicken with what I felt sure was the world’s longest wooden spoon. She was always singing to the baby. I usually sang along.

As the rich aroma of boiling chicken broth filled the air, I curled my fingertips over the edge of the table, stood on my toes, and peeked over the top, hoping to find a soft piece or two of freshly cut noodle that hadn’t made it to the pot. Reaching as far as my tiny arm would go, I stretched across the table, knowing that my hand sometimes found things that my body couldn’t stretch tall enough for my eyes to see. My hand searched the floured table top where Mother had mixed (she never used a bowl), rolled out and cut the homemade noodles. Somehow a scrap or two was always left behind for each child in the room. She lived for children—her’s and anybody else’s.

Noodles must have been bigger in those days because as my tiny fingers clasped the soft scrap of uncooked noodle, it seemed to fill my whole hand. The first thing I saw as I looked up to view this, as yet unseen, treasure, was always my arm, covered elbow to wrist, with the flour that dusted off the table into my face. Unwilling to let go of the noodle, I brushed my face with my left hand to get the flour off my eyelashes. Finally, there was my prize! A plump, flour-dredged noodle left there especially for me.

In my 20s, when I left my home in California to visit Mom in LaPorte, Indiana, I could smell those delectable chicken noodles before I reached her door. In my 30s, when my husband, children, and I left our Pennsylvania home to visit Mom, there was fresh pie, homemade candy for the kids, and, of course, a pot of delicious chicken noodles and gravy waiting for me.

Now, there’s a right and a wrong way to enjoy Down-Home Chicken Noodles. I, of course, passed on to my children the fine art of shaping a huge deep well in a generous size mound of mashed potatoes, then filling that well to overflowing with Mom’s chicken noodles and gravy.

This is a good place to address formalities, so I’ll confess that I know my sister is technically right. It’s three words, chicken and noodles, not two words, chicken noodles. I, however, feel that I came half-way when I moved from the one word I used for this dish since I was old enough to claim a portion by saying, Chickenoodles, please!

In my 40s, when I called Mom to say I’d be visiting soon from my home in Arizona, the words had not left my mouth before she laughed, I suppose you’ll want some chicken noodles, right? In my 50s, either Mom or my sister, Laura, still had homemade chicken noodles waiting for me when I traveled east. For 30 years, those noodles were always awaiting me at the homes of my sisters Marion and Emily in California when my travels carried me westward. They all knew!

When I was 55, I rushed to my mother’s side. She had been paralyzed by a stroke that left her unable to speak, unable to swallow, and unable to move any part of her body except her lower left arm.

The first thing I did was improvise a board containing commonly used words and phrases along with the alphabet. With her arm propped up, she could, then, point to or spell out a few words at a time before running out of energy.

Her first message was spelled out to my sister, Wilma, who is a bookkeeper. Dramatically demonstrating that imprisoned deep within this rapidly fading, almost totally incapable body, was our mother’s exceptionally sharp, witty, capable mind, the message emerged letter by letter, Quarterly taxes due. Please pay!

Her first, and essentially last, message to me, Love the kids for me. Sorry, no chicken noodles this time.

Lauretta’s Down-Home Noodles (with or without chicken)

For 8 generous servings with leftovers

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NOODLES:

4 or 5 cups of flour

4 large (or 5 medium or small) eggs

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 teaspoon salt

1. On a large counter top, or in a big bowl, make a mound of the flour with a well in the center. Break the eggs into the flour well. Combine baking powder and salt, and mix into the eggs. Hand mix from the center outward, gradually incorporating, little by little, just enough of the flour to form a soft ball of dough. (Sift remaining flour to use when kneading the dough.)

2. On a lightly floured surface, knead dough until smooth and elastic in the following manner: Fold dough in half by bringing the far edge toward you. Press with the heels of your hands to push the top layer of dough away from you in a rolling motion. Give dough a quarter turn, and repeat for about 10 minutes or until smooth and elastic. Cover the dough and set it aside for 30 minutes to an hour.

3. At this point you can either run the dough through a pasta machine (or the pasta-forming attachment of your food processor) or, if you would like to roll it out, like Mom did, cut the dough in two equal pieces. On a large, flat surface dusted with flour, use a rolling pin to roll each dough ball into a 25-inch diameter circle until it is at least as thin as a dime, turning frequently to prevent holes or sticking. Let dry on a lightly floured surface for 1 to 3 hours, depending on the dough’s thickness and the outside humidity. (These circles can also be hung, like pants, across a clothes hanger lined with paper or foil.)

4. While the circles are still pliable, cut each in half. Lay one half on top of the other, dusting lightly with flour between each layer to prevent sticking. Cut in half across the middle, and lay one on top of the other, matching straight edges. Repeat this process until you have strips about 12 inches long by 1 to 1¼ inches wide. This will result in stacks of strips about 20 inches long by about 1 inch wide. Cut strips in half to create 10-inch strips for ease of handling. (For long noodles, roll sheets rather than making stacks for cutting.)

5. Cut strips into noodles ¼ -inch wide. Every 5 to 6 cuts, separate noodles and toss gently, dusting lightly with flour if needed.

(For freezing, use a little extra flour after cutting into noodles, and spread on a floured surface until still pliable but close to dry. Put in freezer bags, squeeze air out, and freeze. Will keep several months.)

Noodles may be cooked in vegetarian broth, broth made with 3 bouillon cubes per quart of water, or, like Mom did, in this homemade broth with chicken.

Chicken with Broth

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2 whole chicken breasts plus 5 backs and necks with a little fat on them, for flavor (other chicken parts can be used instead of these, if desired)

1 teaspoon salt

Flour to thicken, if desired

Salt and pepper to taste

1. Place chicken in an 8-quart pot. Add salt and enough water to cover the chicken by an inch or two (about 6 quarts). Bring to a simmer, skim the foam from the top, and simmer again for 30 minutes, or until chicken is tender when pierced with a knife. Lift chicken into colander, using cake pan to catch the drippings, and let stand until cool enough to handle. Strip the meat from the bones, shredding into bite-size pieces, eliminating all fat, skin, gristle and bone. Pour drippings back into the soup pot.

2. Strain the broth into another container. Wash the pot, and return the broth to it. (If you like a more yellow broth, add just a drop or two of yellow food coloring.)

3. Bring broth to a full boil. Add a few noodles at a time, stirring constantly so they don’t stick together. After noodles, add the chicken pieces. Boil just until the noodles are tender (10 to 15 minutes), tasting often for doneness. Season with salt and pepper to taste. (For a thicker gravy, shake 2 tablespoons flour with 4 tablespoons water in a jar to blend thoroughly. Stir the broth while gradually adding just enough of this flour mixture to reach the desired thickness.)

Memories of a

Swedish Kitchen

Norma Brandel Gibbs

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Let no one ever come to you without leaving better and happier.

— Mother Theresa

The earliest memory I have of my mother is in the kitchen with me hugging her around her knees. As a child it seemed to me she was always there. A Swedish immigrant, her kitchen was filled with the wonderful aromas of food from her homeland—delicious Swedish coffeecake and rolls scented with cardamom and sprinkled with sugar, and Swedish limpa, a coarse rye bread baked in a circle and cut in pie-shaped wedges, which was my father’s favorite.

The aroma of bread fresh from the oven greeted my father each evening after his hard day of work as a carpenter. Daddy’s face would light up as he came up the basement stairs. He’d head straight for the kitchen, give Mother a kiss and hug, and praise her for her baking. My brother and I would then run into the kitchen to be included in Daddy’s big hug. He’d sweep us up in his arms and rub our cheeks with his beard. In the kitchen with my parents there was a warm, safe feeling that made me feel somehow that everything was all right, and perhaps that is why, to this day, the kitchen is where I feel most secure.

Nowadays, my happiest moments are spent concocting dishes to feed my family and friends. Even though I love to travel, when I’ve been gone awhile, I’m eager to invite people over and get back in the kitchen and cook. My freezer must be full and my pantry overflowing— a carryover from the Depression that is essential to my sense of well-being. I take joy in serving unexpected guests at a moment’s notice.

During the Depression, when we barely had enough to eat ourselves, I remember Mother serving sandwiches to a homeless man on our back stairs. She taught me that no matter how little we had, we could still share—and I have never forgotten that lesson. There is an old Swedish saying, Five people were invited, ten showed up. Put more water in the soup and everybody enjoy!

Here is a wonderful Old European recipe I would love to share with you. This is delicious